


Trek Drabbles

by allamaraine



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allamaraine/pseuds/allamaraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin. Various ficlets and drabbles from the Trekverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mustache

“No way, Mom,” he said, “The Captain’s always been bald. It’s a universal constant, like gravity.“

“It’s true. And if you think this is bad, you should have seen his mustache phase.”

“He had a mustache?”

Beverly nodded gravely. “It was awful. Thankfully, it was a brief time. So brief that we never got photographic proof. And so, Jean-Luc’s mustache only lives on in legend and myth.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“I am not. Why would I ever do such a thing? I am your mother.”

“Exactly.”


	2. Cry

The holodeck is empty, save for a lone figure in white sitting in the middle of the floor, her back turned towards the entrance.

“Deanna?” Beverly asks quietly as she comes in the door. She’s barely seen her friend since the funeral: only in senior staff meetings or in passing down the corridors. She understands needing the space to grieve on your own terms but, finally, she’d given in and asked the computer for Deanna’s location. Now, when the other woman only responds with silence, she’s wondering if perhaps she made a mistake in coming here. Taking a few steps forward, she tries again. “If you want me to go, I will- oh…” Deanna looks up, her face red and blotchy from heavy crying and her big dark eyes still filled with unfallen tears. Beverly immediately kneels and wraps her arms around her. “Oh Deanna, I’m so sorry. I know, I know it hurts. I miss her too.”

Deanna buries her face in Beverly’s shoulder and starts a whole new round of crying. Beverly rocks her and rubs her back in slow, soft circles. They sit there for a long time, until Deanna starts to calm down. It’s surprising, seeing Deanna like this. In the short time they’ve known one another, Beverly has already come to depend on Deanna’s steady presence on the bridge, how she’s always so centered in times of crisis or stress. Just looking at the way she talked down Armus… Beverly admires her greatly for that.

“I’m sorry.” Deanna’s voice is still muffled by Beverly’s uniform, even though the sobs have subsided. Beverly leans back, gently lifting the counselor’s chin in order to look at her.

“Whatever for?”

“I’m not… this isn’t what you expected from me.”

Right. She’s still trying to get used to working so closely with an empath and no doubt, Deanna is still getting used to they way they all think as well. “I am surprised, but that’s not a bad thing. I was starting to worry about you, that you didn’t have anyone to talk to.” Because she’s everyone else’s shoulder to cry on instead. “And I know how close you and Tasha were.”

Deanna sniffs and wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her judogi. “I’m just… I thought I was all right - I hadn’t even cried at the funeral, or anytime afterwards, but today… this is the time we always set aside for training. She was teaching me how to fight. Mok’bara, it’s called. A Klingon martial art.” Her voice quavers for a moment and she takes a deep breath before continuing. “We had the holodeck reserved already this week and I forgot until my computer set me an alert and I thought I would still come down here and…” Her voice drops off.

“And it hit you, all of a sudden, like a photon torpedo.” Beverly knows all about those attacks of overwhelming grief that hit you when you least expect it.  
Deanna simply nods in response.

“Would it help, if I did it with you?”

Deanna hesitates. “Are you familiar with mok’bara?”

“No, but I’m a quick learner.” She smiles. “Sometimes the best therapy is getting to punch something, in my experience. But then, I’m not the expert.”

Deanna returns Beverly’s smile with a tentative one of her own. “No, you’re right. And I think… I think I’d like that.”

So Beverly stands, offering Deanna a hand up. Deanna takes the proffered hand gratefully. Then, as soon as she’s on her feet, she gives Beverly another hug and whispers, “Thank you.”


	3. Stargazing

In the desert, the stars don’t find themselves in competition with city lights, and they fill the night sky in all their radiance. Venus hangs low on the horizon, while the moon is nowhere to be seen. Kathryn sighs contentedly. All those years spent not knowing where the hell she was… it’s satisfying now to be able to look up and know the names of the constellations, to know that that’s Betazed and that’s Antares, and to know that she’s finally home.

“See?” Beverly says. She’s sitting cross-legged outside the tent with, Kathryn stretched out beside her, using Beverly’s thigh for a pillow as she looks up at the sky. Beverly’s attention, however, is all on Kathryn. She brushes the Admiral’s hair back from her face. Kathryn’s hair is getting long again, which she complains about, but Beverly likes it. Perhaps that’s why Kathryn hasn’t chopped it all off yet. “Camping isn’t so bad, now is it?”

“It’s still cold and there’s still a rock sticking in my back,” Kathryn grumps, “But no… it’s not so bad.” For a moment she meets Beverly’s gaze. Their trip has actually been wonderful, a much needed break from the outside world. Nevertheless, she’s reserving her right to grump. It just wouldn’t do if Beverly started getting ideas about this being an annual thing. No sir. Wouldn’t do at all.

Oh god, but the way Beverly’s looking at her right now, with that trademark softly amused smile and the way those long slender fingers are tracing abstract patterns up and down Kathryn’s arms… maybe this could be more than an annual thing. Monthly. Weekly. Daily. Just abandon their posts and live out here forever, wouldn’t that be nice? No more interviews and lectures, no more late nights followed by early mornings, no more paperwork.

Kathryn closes her eyes. It’s a good dream anyway.


End file.
